The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

The other airships were backing away by then, powered up in response to the threat and lifting swiftly beyond the reach of the flames. Traunt Rowan had gone into a protective crouch, hands moving, his Druid magic sweeping about him. Now he, too, backed away, avoiding the flames as best he could, shielded well enough that he didn’t seem threatened. His black robes swirled about him in a wind generated by the sudden heat as he reached an open spot, caught hold of the rope ladder once more, and began to climb.

The Trolls of Taupo Rough were attacking the airships using catapults now. The wooden machines were mounted all along the ramparts, their cradles flinging huge rocks through the smoke-filled air with deadly precision. Several found their marks, smashing through the hulls and sails of the airships, leaving gaping holes and ragged tears in the wood and fabric. One brought down a mast, collapsing it onto the deck and sending the airship into a spin that took it out of the fight.

The Gnome Hunters aboard the ships fought back with crossbows and slings, filling the sky with a cloud of deadly missiles. But the arrows and stones fell harmlessly, bouncing off heavy armor and rock walls and doing little damage to the well-protected Trolls.

For a moment, it seemed as if the battle was over almost before it had begun. The entire south end of the flats was on fire, grasses and scrub and whatever was in those trenches and holes burning fiercely. The Druid airships were in retreat, those not already down vanishing beyond the flames and smoke. Traunt Rowan had disappeared with them, his flagship turned about with the others.

But already Kermadec was coming down off the ramparts and signaling to his men to do the same. In dark, bulky knots, they began to retreat through the village toward the cliffs. Khyber and Tagwen climbed down from their hiding place, casting anxious glances toward the flats, where fresh trouble would appear. They had just gotten to the ground when Kermadec came charging up to them.

“We have to find that boy!” he snapped, turning momentarily to yell something to the Trolls charging past. “If we lose him now, this will all have been for nothing! Where do we look?”

“He might have found his way to the cliffs,” Tagwen suggested quickly. “He might not need finding.”

“I would have heard, if he were there. I left word to be informed when he showed himself. No, Bristle Beard, he’s still out here in the village somewhere.”

As they tried frantically to come up with something that would help, Khyber threw off the heavy concealing cloak, which was now more hindrance than help. As she did so, her fingers brushed across the small bulk of the Elfstones. She jammed her hand into her pocket and yanked them out. Now that the Druids had located them, there was no reason not to call upon the magic.

“I know how to find him,” she said, dumping the blue stones into her palm. “Stand away from me.”

They did so at once, neither choosing to question her command. Eyes closed, she retreated into her calming center, reaching for the magic. Ahren had trained her in that approach, so the effort was almost second nature. Even the presence of the Elfstone magic was no longer entirely unfamiliar after the Slags, and she recognized the sudden flush of heat that rose in response to her summons. Tendrils of life pulsed from her hand through her body, then back again, gathering speed and power, building in intensity. The magic of the Stones filled her, a wash of power finding a welcome home. She let it happen, left herself open to its need.

The blue light burst from the Elfstones and shot through the village streets and buildings, through stone and timbers, power that solid materials could not contain. The vision formed and tightened, and the three who watched saw them appear in the haze, the boy and the Rover girl, crouched in the shadow of a darkened tunnel.

“The amphitheater!” Kermadec shouted, and despite the encumbering weight of his massive armor, he began to run.


Pen Ohmsford had waited just an instant too long to make his break from the tunnel. When the fighting started, he stayed where he was, Cinnaminson close beside him, as fire erupted from outside the village walls in huge gouts and then catapults began launching boulders and Gnome Hunters retaliated with slings and crossbows. A hail of missiles clattered against the stone of the walls and buildings outside their hiding place, and the boy did not dare chance a break without better protection.

Then, abruptly, the fighting stopped as clouds of dark smoke rolled across the flats and began to seep into the village as well. Still Pen hesitated, unsure. He counted off twenty seconds, then took Cinnaminson’s hand and pulled her after him.

“Run!” he ordered, breaking for the open street.

But the instant he showed himself, the huge bulk of an airship hove into view, slicing through the screen of smoke and flames. Gnome Hunters crowded the gunwales, crossbows and slings firing at everything that moved. Out in the open and unprotected, the boy and the Rover girl were instant targets. A flurry of darts whipped past them, striking the stone walls in a cacophony of tiny, violent explosions. One sliced through Pen’s ribs, spinning him around. Another struck him in the arm and sent him sprawling against the closest wall.